


The end of the road lies ahead (will we walk it together?)

by authoressjean



Series: the changed future [27]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Love above all else, M/M, Sadness, The big ending, The finish line, happiness, tissue alert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "growing old isn't hard to do".</p><p>Bilbo has reached 104 years, but many things have changed. Age has taken its toll, his mind traps him in memories more often than not, and everyone knows that the end will, eventually, come. Fate will have its way in the end of all things.</p><p>Until a stranger arrives in the night and reveals that perhaps fate and the future can be changed one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ BEFORE READING THE STORY
> 
> Well, we're here at last. I don't know how it happened, but we're here.
> 
> This is the end of all things, save for an epilogue that grew a little out of control and will need to be posted on its own outside of this story. But this story marks the end of the series. Wow. I can't believe I just said that.
> 
> I held off on posting this first because I wasn't read to say goodbye myself. I thought I was, and then I just kept putting it off. Even now, posting it sends a frisson of excitement and terror through me. It's hard to say goodbye not just to the characters, but to my readers, who have been so faithful and caring and along for the ride as much as I have been.
> 
> The second reason I held on is because my life sort of fell into shambles and it kept falling into little bitty pieces but is now finally, finally righted. I thought I had it together when I posted the last letter, and it wasn't there yet. I have been nothing but crazy, a hodge podge of emotions. Life wasn't being completely cruel, but it certainly wasn't being kind, and it handed me not one, not two, not three of what most people would consider very stressful life events, but _four_ all at once. But after Tuesday I will have finished with the last of the stress and should be looking to a brighter future. And I realized it was time.
> 
> Please don't let the first paragraph turn you away. I promise you that, despite the tag of major character death, despite knowing this is the end, this DOES end happily. I swear it. You've trusted me this far, trust me a little bit more.
> 
> A shout out goes to those who have recently found my series and have been tearing through it (y'all know who you are). You have reinvigorated me. Thank you.

It is said, amongst those in the Shire, that one day, a great and adventuring Baggins passed on, and that a mighty oak tree sprang from where he had been laid to rest. He had many a visitor come to his burial that day, and there was much mourning, for his friends and family were great in number.

But none mourned so great as his husband, left behind. He would remain in the Shire for only a year more, and then he was laid to rest beside his husband. And the oak tree grew between their graves, connecting them even in their eternal sleep.

That, however, is a story for another day. This is the story of the farewells before the oak tree came.

 

“I worry about him,” Bilbo said one day as he settled the tea kettle on the table. The sun was fine as it always was, and the heat wasn’t too stifling. It was a perfect day by hobbit standards, so it wasn’t a surprise that the smials were empty and everyone was outside enjoying the day.

Thorin began carefully pouring the tea, first to Bilbo, then to himself. “Who?”

“Frodo. He’s not going to handle the next few years well.”

It wasn’t a subject that he wanted to particularly broach with his husband. Thorin tended to get quiet whenever he brought it up, but it had to be spoken of. It wasn’t something that they could avoid. Eru knew Bilbo didn’t like speaking of it. It was hard to admit that he was getting older. It was harder still to think that he wouldn’t be there for Frodo and Elodie.

Thorin kept his gaze to his teacup and avoided Bilbo’s gaze. “Being married can be difficult, when first starting out and finding your way. I have no doubt, however, that he will do well at it.”

Bilbo snorted. “That wasn’t quite what I was aiming for, but well done at turning the topic.”

“I’m not quite certain what else I was supposed to say.”

With a sigh Bilbo moved the tea kettle back to over the fire. “Thorin, he’s going to need someone here-“

“He has Elodie. Bofur and Esmeralda will still be here.”

“You make it sound as if you’ll be right behind me when I go,” Bilbo said, and Thorin flinched at the words. “And you won’t be. You’ve years left.”

“Empty and hollow years, without you.”’

“Thorin-“

“It is said, in dwarf lore, that one can die from a broken heart,” Thorin said lowly. “I can only presume that I will find out if it’s true.”

Oh the melodramatics on that dwarf. “Listen here, you,” Bilbo murmured, and he came over to stand in front of Thorin. His husband’s hair was mostly silver, but there were still a few dark strands here and there to be found. Bilbo found one and twisted it around one of his fingers. Quite unlike his own hair, which was grey except for a few patches of white that were beginning to straighten out. Another sign that he was getting old, much too old for Thorin.

Thorin still wouldn’t look at him, focused only on Bilbo’s vest. Bilbo tugged on the lock of hair and forced him to look up. “We’ve had a good lifetime together, you and me,” Bilbo said. “Over fifty years together. A hobbit couldn’t ask for more than that. And we knew this day would come. But we’ve got to start planning on the after. For Frodo’s sake and Elodie’s sake. They’ve already lost one pair of parents; they don’t need to lose the second set.”

“And what about me?” Thorin asked, and his voice cracked. He took Bilbo’s hands in his and pulled him forward until they were forehead to forehead. “What am I supposed to do when you’re…gone?”

And Bilbo didn’t have an answer for him. He had nothing. “You’ll go on,” he began, but Thorin shook his head.

“Not without you. Do not ask it of me. I cannot, _will_ not, go on without you. I would rather give all my remaining years to you before I had to live without you.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, but Thorin hushed him and simply held him tightly. Bilbo kept his words to himself and simply let Thorin do as he wanted. There was nothing for it, after all. Because the years had been stacked against them since the beginning.

And there was nothing he could do.

 

Evening fell. The night was cool and filled with fireflies, and children ran amok trying to catch them in order to put them into lanterns.

From a distance, sharp eyes watched them all. Silent feet moved through the grass, eyes lighting on chimney after chimney until at last they found one particular chimney smoking from the top hill. A hill with a bright green door, visible even in the dark.

Lips curved upwards in triumph. Bilbo Baggins had been found.

Silently they descended.

 

Dinner had been solemn, more solemn than Bilbo had wanted. Elodie had stopped by with her little Prim on her hip, saying Hob had sent his regards but was still tending to the borders, and Frodo had come by with Reginard as well. Yet for all the cheer they’d continuously tried to instill, the mood had been somber and unshakeable. Bilbo knew that Frodo and Elodie had glanced more than once between their uncles, trying to figure out just _what_ had happened when that morning there had been sunshine and smiles.

Bilbo could have told them, but he had a feeling Thorin was waiting with words to tear the conversation away from him. So somber and solemn would have to do.

Thorin had gone off with Elodie and Frodo while Bilbo had retired to do the dishes. All right, Elodie and Frodo had all but dragged Thorin out of the room to interrogate him because Thorin was easier to break than Bilbo. They’d learned that years and years ago. When Bilbo had met Thorin, that wouldn’t have been the case: not even Kili and Fili could have dragged words from the dwarf’s lips if they’d been so inclined. Thorin had been a stone force, fierce and unbreakable, before they’d taken Erebor. Before he’d married Bilbo.

Then the years and the crown had slowly been a comfort, brushing his harder edges and revealing the gem beneath. Bilbo snorted and set aside another clean dish. Thorin would enjoy that analogy, it was a very dwarvish sounding-

Something clattered behind him. Bilbo froze and turned around. The kitchen was empty. “Thorin?” he called, pitching his voice low. No one answered.

Now that he thought about it, it had been awhile since he’d last heard Elodie and Frodo’s voices, too. His heart jumped in his chest, and Bilbo fought to stay calm. They could have gone outside for a smoke. He ignored the fact that he hadn’t heard the door open. “Thorin?” he called again.

A harsh metal sound, like a blade against stone, left him frozen for only a second more. Then he grabbed the blade from the nearby drawer and held it in front of him, sudsy hands and all. Old he may be at 104, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. Not when the lives of those he loved were on the line.

A guttural laugh made him almost panic. It threw him back to a dark time over fifty years ago when he’d been caught in Mordor, hung like a plucked goose and nearly killed by orcs. No, it couldn’t be. There were no _orcs_ in the Shire.

But the laugh rang again, and when he heard it say, “Tasty, juicy flesh,” Bilbo slowly began edging his way to the door. His heart was pounding in his chest, terrified that if he looked outside, he’d see the Shire burning, just as it had when they’d fought to take it back from the last orc invasion. He swore he could still feel the heat, and he shook himself. Not now, not _now_. One thing at a time.

And his first and foremost concern was for Elodie, little Prim, Frodo, Reginard. _Thorin_.

Heavy footsteps pounded outside in the hallway, and the growl of the orc was closer. “We’re not to touch ‘im! You wait for orders!”

It was all he could do to not fall back into the memories. Memories of the chains biting into his wrists, memories of hanging suspended in the air while the orcs fought over him. Cold stone amidst the hot Mordor air, so tired, so bruised and broken and caught, never to be released. He had one chance to get out, one chance to fight the orcs and get to Mount Doom-

- _no, Bag-End, you have to get to Thorin-_

-and all that stood between him were the chains around his wrists and the orcs waiting out in the other room. Bilbo tightened his grip on his blade and stopped just outside the door. The hardwood beneath his feet made him pause with a frown. He didn’t have chains around his wrists. He was in Bag-End. Bag-End, Bag-End, he was in Bag-End, and he had to _focus_. Why couldn’t he focus?

“Just one lil’ bite,” one of the orcs said, and Bilbo heard it stepping around, saw the shadow, and he wasn’t going to get another chance to save whomever they had. Eru, they could have Frodo or _Thorin_ , if they had Thorin-

“Let him _go_!” Bilbo cried, and he swept around the corner with the blade. The orc caught it easily but didn’t throw him off. The blade was wrenched from his hands and he fought desperately to get through, to get to Thorin. “I’m the one you want, don’t you _touch_ him-!”

“ _Bilbo_!”

He shook his head at the familiar voice that was _very_ close, and when he looked up, there was Thorin, hands tight around Bilbo’s arms. His husband kicked the kitchen blade away, and when Bilbo looked wildly around, there were no orcs. It was just Thorin in the empty hallway and the quiet house with no one else in it.

And the sinking realization that he’d done it again.

Bilbo didn’t even have a chance to loathe himself before Thorin had him in a tight hold. “You’re not,” Thorin growled. “Bilbo, you’re _not_.”

“I’m as mad as they say I am,” Bilbo whispered. “Thorin, you know I am. This is the third time-“

“Don’t you _dare_ say that about my husband,” Thorin said furiously. “You are not, you are _not_.”

Helpless tears rose in his eyes, and Bilbo buried his face in Thorin’s chest, choking on a sob. It was like blowing out the candle: one minute, Thorin had burned with fury, and the next he was holding tight to Bilbo and whispering soft assurances, kindness that Bilbo didn’t deserve.

He was a danger to himself and to those around him. “I could’ve hurt you,” he gasped out, but Thorin shushed him and held him tighter still. “No, Thorin, I could’ve-“

“You wouldn’t have,” Thorin swore. “I promise you. All is well. Please do not let this tear at you. Beloved, _please_ -“

Bilbo grasped his husband’s tunic and miserably wept. Thorin held him and rocked him, and it should have felt like safety, wrapped in his husband’s embrace. All Bilbo could feel was the damning knowledge that he was slipping, day by day. It wasn’t age taking him, it was madness.

And one of these days, he would slip away and never come back.

He never noticed the two pairs of eyes from the doorway to the den watching him, fear and grief in their eyes before they slipped away. Nor did he notice the eyes watching him from the window outside.

Not until the knock on the door, at any rate.

Thorin paused, but he didn’t let go. “Go,” Bilbo whispered, sniffling. “Thorin, the door-“

“Elodie,” Thorin called, and of course they were still here, had probably witnessed his humiliating descent into madness. “Stop it,” Thorin murmured, as if knowing his thoughts. “You’ll leave my husband alone.”

Quick feet darted across the floor, and Bilbo suddenly felt the fear from the ‘orc attack’ strike him again. Thorin had heard the door, so it wasn’t just him. But it was late, too late for any respectable visitors. “Elodie, take Sting,” he called, his throat hoarse from his tears.

“Or Orcrist,” Thorin agreed. Not condescending, never condescending, but in full agreement, despite Bilbo’s spectacular loss of mind not even five minutes before. It made him so thankful for his husband and so utterly at a loss because he did not deserve this dwarf, this man who had stood by him through all these years, who even now supported him and refused to let the madness take him.

It was gratifying to hear the unsheathing of the blade before the sound of the hinges squeaking. He’d have to fix that, tomorrow. For now, what mattered were the next words from Elodie’s mouth.

Silence. “Elodie?” Bilbo asked, perhaps a bit hysterically, but Thorin was already turning to head to the door, so it didn’t matter.

“My lady,” Elodie breathed, and Bilbo frowned and hurried after his husband.

Frodo, Reginard, and little Prim stood in the hallway, staring with awe-filled eyes at the door. Even as Bilbo and Thorin arrived, Elodie stumbled backwards in order to let their visitor in. The cloak registered first – a long, white cloak clasped with mithril at the throat. Mithril Bilbo recognized.

When the hood fell back, it was to a face that he had not seen in some years. “Is she…is she an elf?” Frodo whispered.

Her smile was still like sunlight. “Hello Bilbo, Thorin,” Arwen said, and she gave a nod of her head. “It has been some time since last I saw you.”

“Good evening, your majesty,” Thorin said with a bow, and Bilbo watched the eyes of his heirs grow wider still. If it hadn’t been for the tears still drying on his face, he would’ve laughed in amusement. It would be awhile before he could feel proper amusement again.

But he could still feel the sheer happiness flooding through him at the sight of an old friend. Now that he could see her, he could also see three Gondorians behind her, and two elves besides that. They gave low bows when he met their eyes, and Bilbo gave a quick nod to them. “Please, come in,” he said. “The roof may be shorter than you’re used to, but I can assure you that you’ll be able to stand freely.”

“Thank you,” Arwen said. Her voice was still soft, sweet and kind, the same as Bilbo remembered it. When she moved, it was with the grace that all elves seemed beget with. It was in her movements and her smile that Bilbo could well see her grandmother. Another being he missed with a fervor, one he wished he could see again before the end.

Seemed maudlin was the mood for this evening, disturbing what should have been a joyful visit.

“I am late in reaching you,” Arwen said. “Well past traditional hours of visiting with friends. For that, I must apologize. My father kept me a good time longer than I expected.”

“I can’t blame you for that, nor your father,” Bilbo said, still trying to shrug off his mood. “It’s been some time since he’s seen you last, and I know I’d feel the same if I hadn’t seen Elodie or Frodo or their spouses or any of the other young hobbits that blast through our dwelling in a great long while.”

Merry and Pippin, Samwise and Rosie, Lotho and Everard any of the other hobbit children who’d seemingly grown up in Bag-End. Thorin and Bilbo had wanted children, and they’d been gifted many. So it was with a fair conviction that Bilbo felt he knew just how Elrond had felt, giving Arwen up again after having her stop by.

“Indeed, and as a mother, I understand as well,” Arwen said. She smiled. “He is doing well, you need not ask. Aragorn has hopes for him to take on further duties of the crown.”

“And the others? Denethor, Finduilas, Ivriniel?”

Arwen’s smile fell, just a little, but enough for Bilbo to know that whatever she said next would not end well. “Denethor is Steward,” she said quietly. “Ecthelion passed several years ago.”

Thorin rested a hand on his shoulder, a comfort and strength. “Come, sit by the fire, and bring to us the rest of the news,” he said. “For an Elven Queen wandering into the Shire has more purpose than visiting old friends.”

Frodo’s jaw nearly hit the floor, and Bilbo finally felt a grin tugging his lips up. Elodie shook herself first and scooped her awe-stricken child into her arms. “I’ll get tea,” she said. “If you’ll but step into the den, my lady.”

“My name is Arwen,” the Queen said. “You have no need to address me with lofty titles. Though you may not know it, young Elodie of the Shire, you and I are friends.”

Elodie smiled widely before she managed to tamp it back down. “And a friend will always bring tea to another. Please, come sit.” Then she was gone, little Prim staring with wide eyes over her shoulder.

Arwen let out a small laugh at the sight of the little one. “It has been many years since my Eldarion has been that small,” she said. “Or my daughters. They grow so swiftly, now.”

“They have a tendency to do that,” Bilbo said, and swiftly ruffled the heads of both Frodo and Reginard as he passed them. They grumbled at being tussled like children, but they were both his sons, as far as he was concerned, though Reginard was by marriage. They were still his.

They settled in the den, the Gondorian soldiers thanking Elodie appropriately for the tea. The elves, too, were unfailingly polite, but moved with the men to the kitchen with no prompting, leaving Arwen alone with Bilbo and Thorin.

Frodo cleared his throat. “Shall I help them find tea cakes?” he finally asked. He still couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Arwen. Reginard, either, and Bilbo wondered at it. They’d met elves before, having seeing Legolas and Tauriel more than once as they’d grown.

Of course, the sight of Galadriel still left Gimli and Bofur both struck to the bone with awe, so he supposed it didn’t really matter how many elves there were to see. Some were just blessed with a grace that would always enchant those around them.

Arwen didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she smiled and gestured to the nearby chairs. “You are welcome to stay; my guards will not mind a moment by themselves. Of this I can assure you.”

Elodie returned once more, this time with tea destined for the Queen. Prim toddled behind her, little thumb in her mouth. “You are blessed,” Arwen said, nodding to the little one. Prim’s face split into that wide grin of hers, even with her thumb still between her lips. It made Arwen chuckle at the sight.

“More days than others,” Elodie agreed. “But I imagine you know what that’s like. I’m grateful for Hob, I can assure you of that.”

“Hob Hayward is a Shirrif,” Bilbo explained to Arwen. “He’s patrolling the borders to keep the Shire safe. And when he’s not out there, Elodie is.” Adventurers, the lot of them. Some of the more grumbling types of hobbits would say that Bilbo and Thorin had corrupted the younger generation. It was quite a proud achievement, if Bilbo said so himself, and he smiled into his tea at the thought.

Arwen smiled. “This sounds a great deal like my husband. He is King, and yet he still insists on riding the fields with his men. Denethor, too, goes with him more often than not, now that he is in Minas Tirith.”

“And left Finduilas behind?” Bilbo asked with a frown. “In Dol Amroth, with their children?”

“No. She came to Minas Tirith with both of her children, and there she stays.”

Bilbo paused, teacup almost to his lips. Thorin set his down on the table without hesitation. “She would not leave the sea,” he said. “Finduilas would perish without it.”

“She nearly perished beside it,” Arwen said quietly. “The birth of her first son, Boromir, was difficult. The bearing of her second nearly ended her. You know how ill she was at Faramir’s blessing. Denethor brought her to Minas Tirith many years ago and begged for my aid to save her. Had I not been there and able to help her, I do not know what would have happened.”

“But she’s alive,” Bilbo pressed, forgetting completely the wide eyes of his children seated around him. No, all he could think of was the sweet smile of Finduilas and her constant longing for the sea. Always for her home at the sea…and Denethor. “She is, isn’t she?”

“And doing well,” Arwen assured him. “Her sons Boromir and Faramir are growing tall and strong, and Denethor is proud of them both. Faramir takes after his mother, more often than not, while Boromir would climb into a sack if it meant he could travel with his father and Aragorn.” She chuckled a little at the image, as if remembering a time when the lad had actually done so. “But they are happy and healthy, and soon Finduilas will go back to the sea.”

“Did they ever reconcile?” Thorin asked quietly. “Denethor and Ecthelion.”

It was some time before Arwen answered, and there was a sadness in her eyes. “They did, but it was brief in time, even for men. Both had longed for it, but neither would make the first step until Ecthelion’s life was near its end. Only then did they speak truths to one another, deep and harsh truths that had been denied to them both for many years. Now Denethor sits where his father did, and his reconciliation has left him calmer and more full of peace. He also cherishes his sons, which I have no doubt is due in part to how his father never cherished him.”

She sighed and gazed off into the distance for a long moment, as if watching something else happen. “It will make all the difference,” she murmured. “For more than one of their lives.”

She turned back to her tea, then, and Bilbo turned to his, though his thoughts ran about in his mind. Ecthelion gone after so long, and Finduilas ill, unable to see her beloved waters. Another face came to mind, and he asked, “And Ivriniel?”

Arwen’s smile slowly rose to her face once more. “She travels, wanders, and writes of the lands she sees. More often than not, I hear that her companion is a dwarf with fine braids in his hair and a gleam in his eye.”

“I would expect nothing less, after all these years,” Thorin muttered. Still, his husband shook his head with a rueful smile, and Bilbo chuckled. Good. The last he’d heard from Dori, Nori had been off again somewhere else, but it was always good to hear from the other side that he wasn’t alone, and neither was Ivriniel.

Frodo finally plucked up the courage to ask her a question, and her voice was sweet in replying. After that, nothing was held back, and Arwen was dutiful in answering all of their questions, whether simple ones from Reginard about Gondor or more complex ones from Elodie about the healing herbs that grew better in Arwen’s garden. The candles burned down until Bilbo realized at last that little Prim was fast asleep in her mother’s arms, and Elodie blearily blinking to stay awake. Reginard had long since fallen asleep against Frodo’s shoulder, and Frodo had simply wrapped an arm around his husband to keep him there.

For an evening that had started with such utter catastrophe and madness, Bilbo had never expected this kind of peace to come. He glanced at his husband and found Thorin already watching him with soft eyes. He gave a small smile and watched as one began to bloom on his husband’s face.

“So why do you venture this far west?” Thorin asked Arwen at last, when she had finished her tea. Arwen settled her teacup between her hands and met their gazes with surety.

“The last of the elves are leaving Arda. The ships will bear them henceforth to Aman.”

Bilbo stared. “The last of-?”

“My father and those in Rivendell. My grandmother, too, with those who have stayed behind with her.” Arwen took a long and deep breath. “I will not be going with them. And, to the best of my knowledge, neither will Legolas or Tauriel.”

“What of Haldir?” Thorin asked. “He still travels between Lorien and Erebor more often than not, or so I have heard in letters from the Mountain.”

“I do not know. I expect it will be a difficult decision for him, for he is a Captain under Galadriel’s hand, and he loves her fiercely. But he is also loyal to Tauriel and Gimli, two of his dearest friends. I, too, have heard much about Haldir’s journeys to Erebor from my grandmother. He is also quite fond of Kili, and of Fili’s children.” She shook her head. “I do not know what he will do. Most everyone has already left.”

“But…but what happens when the elves leave Middle-Earth?” Frodo said, staring in horror. Elodie’s eyes were filling with tears at the very thought, and it was an incredibly terrible and horrific idea to imagine: their world without any elves there to tend to the forests, to guide with their long-earned wisdom and knowledge. If they all left, it would be down to three elves: Arwen, Tauriel, and Legolas. All three doomed to stay from mortal love.

Perhaps it would be better if Haldir left the shores of the mortals.

“The world is moving to the age of Men and Dwarves,” Arwen said. “And their children, bearing mixed blood from dwarves and elves alike. And the world will continue in such a fashion.”

She set aside her cup, more solemn than Bilbo had ever seen her. “I travel west to say goodbye to my kin. Aragorn will be there as well, in two months’ time, when they depart. I also had the chance to stop here, in the Shire, and see friends I have not seen in many years.”

The way she gazed at him, however, left Bilbo unsure if that was all there was to it. There was a deep and knowing look in her eyes, as if she knew the madness that was taking him, the age that was wearing at his bones. Galadriel had gazed at him with that knowing look once, too. Right before she’d told him that he’d changed Fate and altered forever the course of the future.

He wasn’t keen on that look now.

“Elodie, Frodo, let’s get you both tucked away,” Bilbo said, putting his teacup to the side and standing as briskly as he could. It wasn’t very brisk, but brisk enough. Elodie yawned but nodded, and Bilbo knew Hob would be by in the morning to find them. Frodo and Reginard also gave brief nods and began stumbling back to the rooms they knew were theirs. They didn’t live far, but far enough that Bilbo wasn’t sending them out into the Shire.

Especially not when he could still feel the crawl of orcs under his skin, burning through him. He flexed his hands and fought to send those terrible thoughts away. They had no place on a night like this.

“I’ll get more tea, or perhaps something stiffer,” he said. “And I’ll check in on your guards. You’ll be staying here, won’t you? I can assure you that I do have a bed fit for elves and men and very tall wizards. I have multiple, in fact.” Guests through the years had necessitated that.

Arwen gave him a bright smile. “If it’s no trouble to you, then yes, I would enjoy more of your company than past this evening.”

“Good,” Bilbo said decisively, and he left before the crawling feeling could get any worse. Wine would help soothe the last of his nerves, and he shrugged off the last of his worries before greeting the guards in the kitchen.

Thorin watched his husband go, hating that Bilbo was still flexing his hands like he did when he was fearful or nervous, rolling his shoulders in the same manner. But there was nothing he could do against the creatures in his mind.

“He has aged so much.”

Arwen’s soft voice only brought back memories of his arguing with Bilbo just earlier that day. “104,” Thorin said quietly. “Hobbits don’t tend to live that long. Some do, but most don’t.”

“His mind, too, has aged,” Arwen said, and she sounded as grieved as Thorin felt. “He falls into the memories of yesteryear more often than not, or so my father said from your last letter.”

Thorin shut his eyes tight. “There’s nothing anyone can do,” he said lowly, and each word felt like poison to him. “The Ring took its toll, and the years that followed did the rest. Your father tried, but there was nothing to be done.” Mahal knew Elrond had tried. The elf had been nearly as desperate as he to find some way to aid Bilbo.

“I do not think he would have made it this long without you,” Arwen said. “You have soothed more than you can know.”

It was a kindness, one that was unfortunately not strong enough to combat the terror seizing his soul. The terror of losing Bilbo once and for all. He could only nod, words beyond him.

“I am not going to Aman. But I still have a place on the ship.”

It took a moment for her words to register, but when they did, he raised his head, slowly meeting her gaze. Her eyes were knowing, but there was a peace about them, a peace she was offering him. “It is mine to give to whomever I wish,” she continued. “They need not be an elf. The place may go instead to an old friend, one who deserves a life of tranquility they will not find on these shores.”

Thorin stared until tears began to roll down his face. “Truly?” he rasped.

Arwen only smiled, and Thorin could have fallen to his knees and thanked her, could have worshipped her at her throne, could have done anything for this wonderful being who would let Bilbo take her place. She would let Bilbo go to Aman, to remain for years and years in peace, health, and happiness. No more madness, no more distress, no more fear. Just peace. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Arwen, _thank you_.”

“No.”

Thorin and Arwen both turned at the sound of Bilbo’s voice. The hobbit stood before them, fury in his gaze, and Thorin watched as he set the tray with wine and wine glasses down before striding over to them, age not even hampering him in this moment. “Thank you, but _no_ ,” Bilbo said firmly. “I’m staying here.”

Thorin stared, then slowly began shaking his head. “No,” he said, and watched Bilbo’s eyes narrow. He didn’t care, he absolutely didn’t care, because for this one time, this _one_ time, Bilbo was going to go. “You have a chance, and I will not see it wasted.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Bilbo said, and Thorin had been afraid that was what would keep him. “So you can think up as many preposterous ideas as you like, but I will not leave you. I will be right beside you until my last breath.”

“You would make me watch you die?” Thorin said desperately. “You would really be that cruel?”

“You would make me leave, knowing that you were left here to die, and I’d never even know when?” Bilbo retaliated, and even with as furious as he was, there were tears in his eyes. “ _You_ would be that cruel?”

“Bilbo,” Arwen said softly, and Bilbo turned to face her, looking hurt and worse than that, _betrayed_. But Arwen shook her head before he could speak. “I cannot give you my place on the ship.”

Thorin froze. “But, you,” he began, and Arwen spoke once more.

“I cannot give it because the Ringbearers have their own places already. You already _have_ a seat, Bilbo. I am giving my place to Thorin.”

For a long moment, no one said anything. “You,” Bilbo began, and then he couldn’t say anything more, so he hurried instead to her and wrapped his arms tightly around her before he fell into tears. Thorin himself could not do anything except grasp the back of his chair and try to remain standing.

Him. Arwen was giving her place to _him_. A dwarf, and it did not matter that he had been her friend. No dwarf went to Aman, it was not open to them. But Arwen was giving _him_ her place.

She stood, Bilbo still in her grasp, and opened her other arm to him. Thorin stumbled into the embrace, his free hand reaching to clutch at his husband. In that moment, eyes wide and full of wonder, Bilbo looked as he once when Thorin had first met him. He’d been blessed to watch the laugh lines crease Bilbo’s brow, watch the hair go grey and silver in turn. Over fifty years with this incredible being, with Thorin’s hand in his.

And he would be blessed to continue holding that hand instead of forced to let it go.

Like the mother that she was Arwen wrapped her arms around them and held them close, sheltering them from the world around them. Thorin’s hand tightened on Bilbo’s, and the three friends stood together for some time.


	2. Many hearts entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news of Bilbo and Thorin's departure hits home to many. Particularly those they will leave behind.

“Uncle?”

Uncle Bilbo made a quick sound to indicate that he’d heard Frodo. It was good that he had, given that his uncle all but had his head buried in an old trunk, rooting around for something. He’d been fussing all day about where things were and what needed to be taken. So far, the list of ‘left behind’ was far greater than the ‘taking’ list, and the thought of having a home with all of this stuff was more than Frodo could fathom.

A home, all his own. Not the small little place that Reginard and Frodo had been renting from the Took family, but their own home. And it would be theirs when Bilbo and Thorin left.

Frodo shifted in the doorway at the uncomfortable thought that had long been dogging him. Elodie didn’t want Bag-End; she’d swiftly denied needing it when their uncles had offered it to her. “I’m meant to be on the border with Hob,” she said. “Our smial is our home, and with us on the edge, we’re better set to be the bounders we’re meant to be. What good is a bounder if they’re not living on the borders they’re protecting?”

So Bag-End had gone to Frodo and Reginard. Reginard’s face when Bilbo had told him-

“Frodo?”

Frodo blinked and found his uncle no longer in the old trunk but standing and watching him with concern. “Are you all right, my lad?” he asked.

Frodo began to reply, then stopped, because he had no answer. Was he happy that Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Thorin would be together for longer? Of course he was. He was beyond happy for them. They deserved numerous lifetimes together.

But they were leaving. And they were going somewhere that Frodo couldn’t follow.

“I, um. Was planning on meeting up with Sam today,” he said instead, when the words got clogged in his throat. “You don’t mind if perhaps we all gather here in a bit, do you?”

“Why would I ever mind, Frodo?” Bilbo asked, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. He understood. “It’s your home, Frodo, you’re free to do with it as you like.”

“I don’t want it to be my home,” Frodo said sharply, and he bit his tongue until it actually hurt. “I want it to be _our_ home.”

“Frodo,” Bilbo called gently. He moved to stand in front of Frodo and brushed a hand over his cheek.

“I want you to be happy, and healthy,” Frodo tried to explain. This demanded an explanation, and Bilbo more than deserved one. “I do, Uncle, more than anything I’ve ever wanted before. But you did too good a job raising us, I suppose.” His laugh fell a little flat, and his false smile disappeared in an instant. “Because I don’t…”

He bit his lip. “Because I don’t want you to go,” he finished, his voice barely heard.

But Uncle heard him. “My dear Frodo,” he murmured, and he pulled Frodo into his arms. Frodo clutched at him, trying to remember a time when his uncle hadn’t been there. Through all the scraped knees and messy footprints, the pranks and the laughs, the tears and the heartbreak of love…he’d been there for it all. And now, now he wouldn’t be, ever again.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Frodo whispered selfishly. Bilbo didn’t seem to mind his words, just patted him on the back again. “I’m going to miss you. I feel like I’m missing you already.”

“Well that’s just nonsense,” Bilbo said in that firm, practical tone of his. He stepped back and met Frodo’s gaze squarely, and then he tweaked his nose, just like Frodo was a lad again. Frodo let out a helpless chuckle.

Bilbo smiled. “I’m right here. And I always will be, in a way. Just inside, where you keep your mother and father. That’s all.”

Frodo nodded, half to agree, half to keep the burn in his eyes from appearing.

His uncle took pity on him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Off you go; I’m certain Sam’s waiting to see you. If you wander past the forge, pop in and see if your uncle’s there, will you? He disappeared early this morning and I haven’t the faintest idea where he is.”

“I’ll find him,” Frodo promised. Bilbo patted him on the shoulder once more before turning back to the trunk, muttering something about a drafty boat. For a long moment, Frodo stared at him from the doorway, memorizing the sight he was long used to: Bilbo in his room, pacing back and forth, lost in thought.

He left for the sunshine of the outdoors. Sam was waiting for him at the end of the walkway, looking far more patient than the other three hobbits beside him. For all his sadness, Frodo couldn’t help but grin. He should’ve known.

“Well?” Pippin asked anxiously, even as Merry, Everard, and Sam told him to hush. Pippin pursed his lips and glared at them. “I’ve a right to ask my cousin just what’s happening, you know.”

“You could give him some space, you lout,” Sam muttered. He turned with an apology in his eyes. “Sorry; I meant to come over on my own, but then these two followed, and then Everard showed up, and what was I supposed to do?”

“Let us come, that’s what,” Everard said. “Especially when I can’t get a single word out of my brother.”

“He didn’t ‘let us’ do anything,” Merry insisted. “We’ve legs of our own. Now _talk_ , Frodo. What’s going on?”

Frodo latched the gate behind him and headed towards the forge. Predictably, they all followed him in a tightly formed group. Uncle had called them ‘ducklings’ and ‘goslings’ more than once, sending Uncle Bofur into hysterics. He locked up the happy memory for a later time. “I need to find my uncle,” he said. “A request from my other uncle. Then we can talk.”

“So it is true,” Merry breathed. “They’re leavin’. They’re going with the elves over the sea.”

“Is the elf queen still with them?” Pippin asked. “I wanted to see her.”

“She doesn’t need spying on, Pippin!” Sam said. He crossed his arms and shook his head at his friend. “I’m sure the lady Queen’s got better things to do than talk to someone who’s not a friend. And why would she find any of us a friend?”

Frodo grinned. “According to her, Elodie and I are actually already friends of hers. Which makes sense, since I’m friends with her husband the King.”

Silence followed that statement, like he’d hoped it would. The forge up ahead didn’t seem to glow like it usually did when uncle was in there, but Frodo quickly hopped the gate and peered inside. The forge was cold and empty. “Uncle? Are you here?” he called anyway.

“You’ve met a _King_?”

Everard’s incredulous question sounded as if he didn’t even believe Frodo. “Yes, I have,” he said, a little indignant that his wedded brother didn’t even trust his word. “I’ve met more than one King, actually. My cousin Fili is King of Erebor. And I met Aragorn, King of Gondor.”

“Gondor,” Pippin breathed. “Merry, he’s met a King from Gondor!”

“ _The_ King of Gondor,” Sam corrected. “I wasn’t under the impression that they had more than one.”

Pippin didn’t seem concerned at that. He just continued to stare enthralled at Frodo. “You lucky pup, you get all the good fortune,” he said. “Was he nice? Was he tall?”

“Oh, those kings,” Merry said, shrugging. “Those don’t count.”

Sam turned to him, eyebrows raised. “How don’t they count?”

“I’ve met them both. Neither seems very much like a king. Aragorn kept smiling and talking with everyone and looked more like a Ranger than a King, and Fili taught us new pranks. That one with the pillows? We learned that from Fili and Kili when we were in Erebor.”

Frodo stepped through the forge gate this time instead of jumping over it and met back up with the group. Pippin still seemed enamored at the thought of meeting the King of Gondor, while Sam continued to stare at Merry in bewilderment. Merry just crossed his arms and shrugged.

Frodo narrowed his gaze. “They’re still kings, Merry. Just because you know them doesn’t make them any less royalty.”

“I’m talking about a king I’ve never met. Someone who _acts_ more kingly.”

Sometimes his cousin was absolutely preposterous, and sometimes Frodo feared for himself because he understood where Merry was coming from. He didn’t entirely agree with his cousin, but he at least understood. “Well, maybe you’ll meet a king from…from Rohan. Maybe that will be kingly enough for you.”

“As if I’d ever get the chance,” Merry muttered. “I’m a grown hobbit and my mother would still string me up by my braces.” He plucked at the item in question, hooking his thumbs around them. “Which isn’t fair, since I know she was off adventuring at a younger age than I am now.”

“But you were raised in Erebor for a bit,” Pippin said. He looked close to pouting. “I’ve never been anywhere outside the Shire.”

“And here you are, scoffing at kings like you’re the expert,” Everard accused. Merry rolled his eyes. “Pippin’s right, at least you’ve been out of the Shire.”

“Why would you want to?” Sam exclaimed. “What’s wrong with the Shire, I ask? Nothing. It’s beautiful here.”

“Come on, Sam,” Frodo said, and he nudged his friend a little. “Surely you want to see things beyond the Shire. What about the elves? Rivendell, the Greenwood?”

Sam fidgeted a little. “Well…I would. You know I would. But they’re all leaving now. Not a single elf left. Excepting the Queen and your two cousins, o’course.”

They weren’t really his cousins, except by very distant marriage, but Frodo understood what he meant. It also only reminded Frodo that the elves _were_ leaving, and that they would take his uncles with them. Safe and forever happy over the sea. He only wished that they would be happy here, in the Shire, but Frodo knew it wasn’t meant to be.

He straightened his back. “Come on, you lot,” he said. “I’ve got to find my uncle. Then we can talk about visiting other lands.”

“I don’t quite know that I want to,” Sam muttered, but he followed after the others.

 

When Thorin stepped back into the smial, he was met with the smell of something burning and absolute silence. “Bilbo?” he called.

Nothing. Cursing under his breath, he hurried into the kitchen, where the smoke was starting to get a little thicker. The smell, too, was strong, and Thorin was already throwing open windows to the evening air before he even got there.

Bilbo stood in front of the oven, eyes focused on nothing at all, but there was fear on his gaze as he watched some distant horror play out. Thorin didn’t even touch him, instead grabbing a nearby water pitcher and tossing it inside the oven. Whatever was burning was already well past saving, anyway. The coals hissed but with the fire out, the smoke already fading, Thorin could turn his attention to his main priority: Bilbo.

His husband was still staring into the distance, and there were tears silently trailing over his face. He mouthed a word over and over again, and it wasn’t the wall he was speaking to, or the oven, or anything at all except for whatever he was seeing in his head.

It left Thorin’s heart breaking all the more. His husband, his beautiful and strong husband, getting lost to memories more with each passing day.

Slowly he moved to where Bilbo stood and, as carefully as he dared, he pulled Bilbo into his arms. His husband didn’t move, still lost, but Thorin began stroking his hand up and down his back. “Come back to me,” he murmured. “Bilbo, come back, beloved. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Based on past experiences, he could’ve made a guess as to what Bilbo’s living nightmare consisted of. Especially since he knew what his name looked like on his husband’s lips, repeated over and over again. And he could make guesses as to what had set his husband off. Perhaps the smoke from the oven, or the clouds that had rolled in. He didn’t know for certain, and Bilbo refused to ever tell him.

It didn’t matter. He would still be there for Bilbo, no matter what pulled him away. Thorin would always be there to pull him back.

It took a few minutes of gently stroking down Bilbo’s back before he suddenly felt the hobbit tense. Thorin didn’t move, just kept moving his hand. “Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, a strangled and miserable sound, and at that Thorin did pull back. Bilbo’s face was flush with embarrassment again, as if this were a choice of his, to continuously get pulled into the past.

Thorin just smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Found you,” he murmured.

Bilbo sniffled and finally wrapped his own arms around Thorin. “You always do,” he whispered wetly. “You always do.”

He paused a moment before reluctantly asking, “The bread I was baking…?”

“We have plenty more,” Thorin said immediately. Bilbo groaned and sank his head against Thorin’s chest.

“That’s not the point, and there won’t _be_ plenty more if I don’t stop burning through them.”

“You burned through one, beloved. That does not constitute a ‘them’.”

Bilbo muttered something under his breath and refused to remove his head from where it was pressed against Thorin. Thorin didn’t bother trying to understand what he’d said: if it was important enough, Bilbo would tell him. He had a feeling, however, that Bilbo was simply muttering in annoyance to himself, and it was better than Bilbo crying. Thorin hated watching his husband cry, hated seeing his husband in pain.

He also hated feeling helpless to do anything about it. And right now, he was more helpless than he usually was.

 _One more month_ , he thought to himself. _Just one more month_.

They stayed together in the kitchen, the smoke dispersing entirely. Thorin was surprised that the smell hadn’t brought Frodo running, but then he remembered that Frodo didn’t live in Bag-End anymore. He lived in his own small smial with Reginard, despite how often they were both here in Bag-End.

Then he paused, because Frodo was supposed to have been here today. “Where’s Frodo?” he asked.

“Off with Sam and a group of friends,” Bilbo replied. He pulled away and wiped his cheeks, clearing the remnants of tears and the last of his sadness with it. “I heard Merry and Everard, and where they go, Pippin’s sure to follow.”

“Pippin is going to find himself in a great deal of trouble, one of these days,” Thorin mused. The youngest hobbit of the group was notorious for getting himself into trouble. Bilbo’s 90th birthday came to mind, the little hobbit being helped by his older cousin in stealing some of Gandalf’s fireworks. For once, Kili and Fili hadn’t been involved – at least, that was their story, and they’d stuck to it well – but they _had_ thought it highly amusing. It didn’t matter the age, Thorin supposed. A mischievous soul was always bound to enjoy trouble.

Bilbo smiled, like all was right in the world. “Pippin finds himself in trouble on a daily basis, dear husband of mine. How is tomorrow or any ‘one day’ going to be any different?”

With a chuckle Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. The acrid smell of smoke still hung faintly in the air, though, and Bilbo’s face fell as he realized it. Before Thorin could say anything, however, Bilbo moved over to the windows and flung them open wider still. “Bit more fresh air would help,” he said, sounding as sensible and nonsensical as he always did. “Would you see if we’ve any more dough in the pantry? Or I can, and you can start…well, scrubbing the oven, I suppose, you may need some of that steel wire that the dwarves from the Blue Mountains sent ov-Thorin!”

Thorin refused to budge, his arms tight around Bilbo, all but burying his face in his husband’s curls. This hobbit, this _wonderful_ being, his husband, his beloved. “I would have let you go alone,” Thorin whispered into his hair. “But I am so infinitely grateful that I may go with you.”

A moment later, and Bilbo’s fingers were digging into him, holding on just as tightly. It wasn’t nearly as tight a grip as it had been fifty years ago, muscles weakening with age, and it only made Thorin want to keep hold of Bilbo and never let him go.

“I wouldn’t have gone without you, you daft dwarf,” Bilbo mumbled into his chest. “We would have stayed together or gone together. There was no other option.”

Thorin shut his eyes tight and breathed. “I’ll clean the oven,” he finally said.

“In a minute,” Bilbo told him, and Thorin stayed where he was, arms wrapped around his beloved.

 

“Elodie?”

Elodie hummed from the washroom from where she was kneeling beside the tub. Prim giggled and splashed her – again – and she gave a wry thought to the fact that defending the Shire’s borders was easier than washing a rambunctious little one. But Hob had been needed in town, so Elodie had stayed behind.

Hob stepped in behind her and grinned from above her head. “Having fun?” he asked. Elodie scowled at him.

“Yes, I love getting myself washed by-“ Prim splashed her again, making her flinch and shut her eyes. She opened one eye to continue scowling at her husband, all while Prim giggled and giggled. “-means of splashing,” she finished. “I hope your meeting was boring and tedious.”

“It was neither,” Hob said with that horrible grin of his that she loved so much. “It was actually quite informative, and it’s information you have to keep to yourself.”

Elodie blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The Shire intends to all be out when Bilbo and Thorin depart. They’re planning a going away celebration. Lobelia’s bound and determined, even though she can hardly walk anymore. I think she’s sort of hoping that she’ll be carried down.”

The news about Lobelia wasn’t surprising – that was Lobelia – but the idea of hosting a farewell for her two uncles was a wonderful idea. “Whose idea was it?” she asked.

“Everyone’s. I actually didn’t even bring it up, though I’d been intending to.”

Prim was playing with her bath toys now, so Elodie kept her one arm behind her daughter and turned her full attention to her husband. “You were?” she asked.

Hob grinned. “Of course I was! I’m not about to let them leave Middle-Earth and not be recognized. Two of the world’s greatest adventurers living right here in our little Hobbiton, and they’re off to go with the _elves_. That’s a greater sign of respect and recognition than I’ll ever be able to give them. Sometimes I forget that Thorin was a _king_. It’s mad.”

If it hadn’t been for Prim propped against her arm, Elodie would’ve lunged up and embraced him. Her magnificent, wonderful friend and husband. She did, however, have a free arm, and she used it to catch Hob by the shirt. Hob bent down willingly and with that grin of his, and Elodie pressed a firm kiss to his lips. “I love when you do things like that,” she said when they’d parted.

Hob shrugged, still upside down. “I know. Did you want me to finish washing Prim?”

Oh but she was glad that she’d married her best friend who knew her so well. “I’ll finish her,” she said anyway. “She’s been soaking up the water for the past half hour.” She’d never known another child who’d like baths so much before.

“It’s your mother’s blood,” Hob said knowingly. He straightened and headed back out. “I brought you something from town! It’s the little biscuits that you like so much!”

“Bisk,” Prim said, eyes wide and hopeful. “Bisk?”

Elodie sighed. “One,” she finally acquiesced. “And that’s if you hurry and let me wash out your hair.”

Prim dutifully put her toys on the other side of the tub, then scrunched her eyes shut and tipped back her hair, as if waiting for the water. “Not _yet_!” Elodie said, laughing. “I haven’t even washed in the soap…oh, never mind.”

“Sure you don’t want me to wash her?” Hob asked, poking his head back into the room. “I really don’t mind. There’s a fresh kettle on for tea, too.”

“I don’t mind,” Elodie said honestly. She set about pouring the soft soap from its little jar onto her hands and lathering up. “You’re being awfully nice to me tonight, I _was_ just teasing about the meeting.” If she’d minded staying home with her child, she would have brought Prim to the meeting. Staying home with her little one running wild had been a welcome event.

“I know. But you don’t like change.”

Elodie paused, hands already on Prim’s head. “You never have,” Hob said quietly. “I know that. I just…I haven’t been able to tell how you’re handling your uncles leaving. And biscuits and tea never go amiss, do they?”

Her heart seemed to swell inside of her until she thought she wouldn’t be able to hold in all the love she had for the man standing behind her. Always looking out for her, always being her friend in the best of ways, always loving her. Her Hob. “No,” she said, and her voice sounded a little choked up. “No, they don’t.”

He waited by the door. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t done talking yet. So she finished with Prim’s hair and caught the ladle to carefully rinse the soap away. Two quick rinses, and Prim was shaking her head like she was a puppy. Elodie chuckled and turned back to her waiting husband. There was no censure in his gaze. Just patience and love, as there always was.

“I’m actually all right,” she admitted. “I’m not losing everyone. I have you, and I have Prim, and I still have Frodo and all my crazy cousins and Esmeralda and Bofur. So everyone’s not gone.” She took a breath. “It hurts, because you’re right, I don’t like change. Not always. Until you came along, change had had bad and good strokes, but it was usually bad. It wasn’t always good until…until you.”

Hob gave a shy, pleased smile at that. “So it’s hard to let them go,” she said, smiling in return. “But they’re not dying, and that was a far worse fate. They’re just moving somewhere beyond letters and sight. They’re going to be together forever, and I’ll get to watch them and I’ll wave goodbye and the last memory I’ll have of them is them alive and together. And that…that’s more than I could have hoped for, truly.”

She hadn’t had that with her parents. She’d watched them be prepared for the funeral, she’d watched them be buried. She wouldn’t have to do that with her uncles, and that made all the difference.

“Good,” Hob said. “But there’s still tea and biscuits.”

“Good,” she repeated after him, and he grinned at her. “Let me dry off Prim and get her to bed and I’ll come join you.”

Hob was halfway down the hall when she called out to him, “Can you get out the sugar bowl for the tea?”

“Sugar? For the tea? You _hate_ sugar with your tea!” he called back.

Elodie began to respond, then paused. Her hand hovered over her belly, and then she began to smile. Prim giggled at her as she raised her daughter out of the tub and began to dry her off. “Yes, sugar with the tea, please,” Elodie told him. She tweaked her daughter’s nose with the end of the towel. Prim laughed and rubbed at her nose.

Perhaps she’d know definitively in time to tell her uncles before they left for the western shores. Yes, that would be a very good going away present.

 


	3. The leaving of Hobbiton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin leave Hobbiton with traveling companions...and find quite the surprise waiting for them.

The morning of their departure, Bilbo was up early. There were two things left to pack, and both were going on his person. He just had to make certain he found them from where they’d been carefully set aside.

The house was quiet but full, Elodie and her family down the hall in one of the guest rooms, Frodo and Reginard in another. Esmeralda and Bofur were in their own smial but Merry, Pippin, Everard, Lotho, and even Sam and Rosie had stayed the night. All of them had demanded stories from Bilbo and Thorin until the candles had been burned down. No one had wanted to go to bed early.

That, perhaps, had been the greatest gift Bilbo could have been given. The not wanting to waste one last moment more with him, dreading his departure so.

So he crept quietly down the hall to his old library, and he took the time to stand and gaze at it for a bit. All his books were staying, and the desk and writing things, too. All of them going to his Frodo, his dear open hearted Frodo. He knew Elodie would probably visit every day with her daughter, and he hoped they would enjoy the library, too.

Perhaps she’d bring her second child, too, and the news Elodie had relayed to them all last night left Bilbo grinning again. Sugar in her tea; Hob really should have known.

Hands rested on his shoulders, and Bilbo gave a sigh and leaned back into the touch. “Counting things?” Thorin hazarded as a guess.

“Saying goodbye,” Bilbo said. Thorin’s hands began to rub up and down his arms in comfort. “Not in a bad way. I’m imagining the things I never would have lived to see, anyway.”

“And I cannot begin to describe to you how happy I am that those words no longer burn me,” Thorin said. He pressed a kiss to the side of Bilbo’s head. “Come, beloved. You and I need to rouse the others so we can go before the sun is too high.”

So they knocked on doors and soon had the others up and moving. Lotho left, saying he had something he had to do, and was quick out the door. Bilbo left them to finish up the breakfast dishes and instead went to his room. Their room.

There had been pain, when he’d left Erebor. There had been such pain and Bilbo had broken down twice when the sheer memories of the place had told him just how much he would miss the mountain and all within it. He was almost surprised at how much he felt the same, here, for this small room that had been theirs for so long. Even though the room had never held the same dramatic memories as Erebor, and the Shire had been quieter than the mountain, he still felt himself remembering things, seeing his younger self in bed beside his younger husband. Playing with Frodo and Elodie, his ankle acting up in later winters. It was all here, wrapped around Bag-End but especially this room, _their_ room.

He wiped at his teary eyes and moved forward with a purpose. “One last thing,” he murmured. Well, two things, but the first was right in front of him.

There, on the chain Thorin had fashioned for him, was his pin. Still shining, still beautiful, after all these years. Thorin’s beloved until the end of days. He tenderly ran his fingers over it.

It had been the Ring that had started his true adventure, but this pin, he would argue, had started the adventure of his lifetime. His marriage, his love, it had all begun with this pin that Thorin had given him one night on the way to Mirkwood. It seemed like yesterday, yet it also seemed as if it was 54 years ago, which it was. His pin, his promise. One that Thorin had kept all these years.

Alongside the pin on the chain were two beads, still glistening like new. On the other side of the pin was a horse head amulet, and Bilbo smiled fondly at the memory of one of his dearest friends. His son now resided on the throne, and Morwen was long gone, off to join her husband in the plentiful fields Bilbo hoped awaited the fallen Rohirrim. He slid the chain over his head and let his fondest memories hang against his chest.

The second thing was one he didn’t need much, but he wasn’t leaving it behind. He caught it in his hand just as Thorin stepped inside. His husband made a terrible face. “Please leave it behind.”

“No,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “And I’m not a lick sorry. It’s mine and it was my first gift and I’ll not leave it behind.” He grasped the cane with both hands. “I don’t need it. But it’s mine, so I’ll mind you to keep your hands off of it and leave it to me.”

Despite himself, Thorin began to smile. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“Good for you,” Bilbo replied, and this time Thorin did chuckle.

“I thought that might be your response. The others are ready, if you are.”

It was as sudden as it had been in Erebor, but just as he had then, Bilbo didn’t look back. He stepped over and caught Thorin’s hand in his. “I am, if you are,” he said softly.

Thorin merely smiled and closed the bedroom door behind them.

The others were outside in the entryway waiting, more patiently than Bilbo had ever known them to be. Even Pippin was standing still, for once. He supposed it was a solemn affair: leaving the Shire forever and never returning. Though these hobbits were coming with them to the docks – trying to tell them no had been a mistake.

“Where’s our ride?” Bilbo asked.

“In town,” Hob said. “The cart’s waiting there, along with the ponies.” He held out his hand towards the gate. “After you.”

Bilbo gave him a smile and headed out after Thorin, who was carefully watching to ensure that Bilbo wasn’t actually _using_ the cane. “Stubborn dwarf,” Bilbo murmured.

“Insufferable hobbit,” Thorin said in return, then stopped in the middle of the path. Bilbo frowned at him before he glanced around his husband.

And stared.

The town of Hobbiton was still and silent, but it was not empty. Lined along the streets were hobbits of every age and every size. They all stood, quiet and solemn, and all of them were gazing at Bilbo.

Bilbo found his jaw dropped and quickly shut it. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

Thorin looked just as bewildered as Bilbo felt. “I do not know.”

“Go on,” Elodie urged from behind them, and she had a knowing smile on her face. Slowly Bilbo stepped down the path and into town.

Hobbits from each side of the road began to smile, and suddenly the well-wishes came from everyone. Everyone had something to say, farewells being given at every opportunity. Young to old, young lasses to doting mothers and toddling lads to the oldest grandfathers, they were all there, and they were all speaking. “Good luck,” mixed with, “A blessed life to you both,” and sometimes even just, “Thank you,” was heard.

Bilbo only realized he was crying when the tears leaked into his smile. There were familiar faces in the crowd, Hamfast being one of them, and his old friend managed to bite his wobbling lip in order to embrace Bilbo long and hard. “Be safe, Mister Bilbo,” he murmured. “I’d go if I could to see you off, you know I would. I’m just glad Sam can go for me.”

“I know you would,” Bilbo said. “Oh, I know you would. I’m so glad I got to see you, Hamfast.” Before he left.

He was leaving them all behind.

They finally made it to the center of town, and there, seated on the cart, was a very familiar face. Bilbo stared until he heard the low chuckle. “Is that all I get for a greeting, my old friend?”

“ _Gandalf_ ,” Bilbo whispered, and the wizard stepped down from the cart in order to embrace him. Bilbo’s smile broadened, and he saw Thorin smile in the same manner when the wizard embraced him as well. “Where have you _been_?” he finally asked.

“Busy,” Gandalf said enigmatically. “But…a good busy, actually. So there’s nothing to worry about. …Mostly,” he amended, and Thorin rolled his eyes.

“Always of good cheer, Gandalf.”

“There’s always going to be something to worry about,” Gandalf said, eyeing Thorin in that same annoyed manner as he always did. “You should know that better than anyone, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Then he smiled. “But it does my heart good to see you both, and even better knowing why you are leaving the Shire at long last. I am pleased to be the one to bear you to the West.” He raised an eyebrow at the rest of the group. “Though I am not taking all of you.”

“Only to the docks,” Frodo said. “We just want to see them off.”

“Very well,” Gandalf agreed, as if he hadn’t been intending on letting them all go. He bent and embraced Frodo and Elodie with bright smiles, and he made a quick firework appear, just for Prim. Her delighted eyes sparkled, and she instantly reached for him to hold her, which he did with a chuckle.

“Bilbo Baggins!”

Bilbo turned and grinned. Lobelia was seated in her wooden chair, which was being carried by four young hobbits, one of them being Lotho. “If you thought you could leave the Shire without saying goodbye to me, you’re mad,” Lobelia insisted.

“I wouldn’t have dreamed of it,” Bilbo promised. Lobelia scowled at him, before finally smiling and reaching out to embrace him. Her fingers were a little tight, but Bilbo let them dig in until they bruised. He knew why she was clinging to him.

Sure enough, when he pulled away, her eyes were red with tears. “I hate that you’re going, you know. You were always…”

“I know,” Bilbo said quietly. “I know.” He did know. Despite their rocky start and middle, they’d become good friends over the years. Enough for him to know that Lobelia didn’t _need_ the chair she stayed in, as she’d led everyone to believe. She just liked that the others would carry her around in it. It almost made him grin.

“You’re one of the few I could talk to about the orcs and that horrible taking of the Shire,” Lobelia continued. “And now who will I talk to about it? I’ll be all alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Esmeralda said, coming over from her place. She took one of Lobelia’s hands in hers and held it tight. “We’ll still be here, Bofur and I. And we remember.”

Lobelia finally smiled. “So you do. Good.” But she still glanced at Bilbo with sadness. “I’ll miss you,” she finally said, voice almost painfully small.

“And I’ll miss you,” he said. “But I have to go.”

“I know, and I’m glad you’re going,” she said as firmly as she could manage with her unsteady voice. “You needed to go. And I couldn’t think of anyone who deserves it more.”

He gave her one last embrace, then stepped away from her and the chair. She wiped at her eyes again but stayed where she was, watching them load up into the cart and onto the ponies.

“Onward we go,” Gandalf said, taking the reins of the cart. Bilbo stopped from where he stood on the edge of the cart, then glanced out at everyone. His people, his kin, his friends, all of them here to say goodbye. If ever there was a moment to say something, it was now.

“I’ve never been good at speeches,” he said, and the crowd laughed like he’d hoped. Thorin snorted from behind him in the cart. Bilbo smiled. “But I can say, from the bottom of my heart, that you deserve words of gratitude and kindness, that you deserve the best for being the best. You, my dear hobbits, are among the greatest creatures on this earth, and you have exampled that to me and mine today.”

His throat was clogged with emotion, and he had to swallow it back twice before he could continue. “So thank you,” and his voice broke on the last word. “Thank you for all the days here in the Shire. I wish you all many more here in the sunshine and the warmth that we have called home. Farewell! You will all remain as a memory in my heart.”

Fresh farewells were called out, and Bilbo carefully sat down inside the cart, Thorin’s hands guiding him down safely. Then they were moving, and more hands rose to wave goodbye. Bilbo waved and waved, and he had to blink to see through his tears.

He blinked in time to see Lobelia stand from her chair at long last and walk away, much to the astonishment and gasping of those around her. Then Bilbo’s tears were forgotten as he began to laugh, and laughed even harder at Lotho’s eye roll from where the lad rode on his pony.

So it was with great merriment that they left the Shire.

 

Wandering the hills of the Shire took Thorin back to his days as he’d chased after Bilbo, trying desperately to catch up with him before he reached Mordor. Except this time, this time there was infinitely less stress and far more enjoyment. Their journey was not a dawdle, but Gandalf took his time leading the horses and ponies onward and westward. It gave Thorin and Bilbo both time to see and speak with those who were venturing with them to say goodbye. Frodo in particular was akin to a dry rag, sopping up everything they had to say and keeping it near and dear to his heart. Bilbo had been right: Frodo wasn’t taking their leaving very well at all.

Sam was there, though, as was Rosie and Merry, Pippin and Everard and Lotho, but most importantly, Reginard was there to stand beside his husband and keep him well. Elodie, too, was there, with Hob, and Prim alternated between sitting with her parents or riding in the cart with Bilbo and Thorin. In this instance, however, Elodie couldn’t be there completely for her brother, because she was experiencing the same loss, too. Without Reginard being there, Thorin didn’t even want to try and imagine their leaving Arda and Frodo behind.

Of course, the others were providing enough entertainment to keep all of them distracted.

“Potatoes are best,” Sam was arguing outside the cart. “Far better than carrots.”

“That’s not true!” Pippin exclaimed. “Farmer Maggot’s got the best carrots, and as much as I love a potato, you can’t beat carrots!”

“What, the carrots that you steal out of his fields?” Everard asked incredulously, and Frodo’s laughter was heard above Pippin’s stubborn response. It made Thorin grin inside the cart.

From beside him, Bilbo let out a contented sigh and rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder. Thorin shifted his arm and only winced a little at the phantom pain from his old wound. He still remembered the sharp, hot burn from the iron shaft that Dekir and Rutar had lodged in his shoulder. Seemed Bilbo wasn’t the only one who took the past’s pains with him.

Not for long, now. If the rumors and stories were true, then neither would take their old aches and pains with them.

“Are you all right?” Bilbo asked, as if sensing his discomfort.

“Just an old ache,” Thorin said quietly. It hardly hurt at all now. “I’m fine. It’s just the shoulder from Moria.”

Bilbo blinked, frowning. “Moria?”

“Dekir, Rutar?” Thorin asked, but the swirling in his gut was already there. His shoulders fell a little in resignation. “The iron pole?”

There was no recognition on Bilbo’s face. The worst part was that he seemed to know he should have remembered and simply couldn’t. “Moria?” he said again, weakly. “I…I don’t. I don’t remember.”

For a moment Thorin wished that these memories would stay away, that these would keep from his mind. If ever there were things to not remember, then that entire mess surrounding Caila was one to keep away and out of Bilbo’s mind forever. There were nights that Thorin still laid awake, unable to tear his mind from the memories of their fight, of Balin, of Kili’s wound and Bilbo’s haunted eyes and the beast that had nearly taken his beloved from him. He envied Bilbo for that moment of reprieve.

“It’s all right,” Thorin soothed. Bilbo turned away, unable to face him, and Thorin fought to tell himself, _Almost there. We’re almost there and then this will be over._

Carefully his hands began to run over his husband’s tense arms, up and down in a soothing pattern. “We’d fought, you and I,” he said softly. Outside the cart, he could still hear the others laughing and teasing one another. Gandalf seemed to be paying more attention to the young and vibrant conversation, but Thorin had no doubt the wizard’s other ear was bent in towards the cart.

Bilbo said nothing. “A terrible fight, and it was all my fault, though you’ve always insisted it was partially yours,” Thorin continued. “Then we were separated in Moria, and when I found you…it will forever haunt me, finding you as I did. It was when we tried to leave that Dekir and Rutar found us and wounded me. You came to my aid, though. You saved my life.”

“Orcrist is heavy,” Bilbo said roughly, and Thorin let out a silent sigh of relief. “You’re lucky I was able to lift it at all.”

“I was lucky you were there at all,” Thorin corrected. He finally managed to tug the resisting hobbit back up against him and pressed a kiss to white strands. “Dekir nearly killed you, from what Kili told me. It was closer than you had described to me.”

“My bigger concern was getting my nephews and my niece and my husband and kin _out_ of that desolate place. I wasn’t really concerned with the ‘nearly had’s at that point.” The tension was slowly fading, much to Thorin’s approval, and Bilbo finally sank back against him once more. “I don’t mean to forget,” he whispered. “I don’t, I really don’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” Thorin insisted. “Beloved, believe me when I say this is out of your hands and nowhere close to your doing. I know this. We all know this.” His hands tightened a little around his husband. “And you always come back.”

Bilbo said nothing, but he stayed pressed against Thorin until he finally dozed off some time later. Thorin stayed awake, feeling the cart jostle them back and forth, listening to the chattering outside. Nearly there. They were nearly there, he thought.

And then Gandalf pulled the cart to a halt and said, “We have arrived.”

 


	4. The last ship sails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we have come to the end, and yet, a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The author would like to share a farewell note with you.](http://dancingacrossthekeys.tumblr.com/post/113600028596/my-thank-you-to-all-of-my-fans-followers-and)
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> Sooooo weird that we're here. I'm not quite certain what I'm supposed to do with myself now. Hopefully continue writing.
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> There IS an epilogue coming so don't think this is the end-end. Well, it is the end, but there will be one last short bit. So do look for it.
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> Thank you for everything you've shared with me, all your comments, everything. It means the world to me. You don't know how much you've made a difference in my life.
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> I hope this last bit will mean just as much to you as it does for me.
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> <3

It was the wizard himself who pulled a bleary eyed Bilbo from the cart and settled him upon the ground. Bilbo woke up quite a bit more as soon as he saw where they were, and Thorin had to admit to being impressed as well.

The harbor was bright and shining in the midday sun, filled with several boats here and there. None were so great as the tall ship at the end of a stone dock. Its sails were like silk, but with every small breeze that came they danced around, eager to be filled and sailing on. Thorin didn’t even need to see the figures waiting alongside the ship to know it was theirs. The last ship to Aman, and he, Thorin Oakenshield, would be upon it.

He had thought himself cursed by Mahal, once. Now he wondered how Mahal could bless him in such a fashion.

They were a somber group heading down to the water, though Bilbo was just as in awe as Thorin was. There was great craftsmanship here in the harbor, both of stone and of wood, and all around it was a place of peace. He wondered if any of these ships went around the land to Dol Amroth, if Denethor or Finduilas or their two sons would see these ships arrive.

“Welcome, my friends. You are a happy sight.”

Thorin smiled up at the elf Lord. “And I am pleased to see you, and grateful.” He found his throat clogging up and realized he couldn’t ever express how much it meant to him, this small seat on the ship. How much their allowing him to be there had changed _everything_ for him. “Elrond, I…”

“Peace, my old and dear friend,” Elrond said quietly. He smiled and rested a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “I would not dare part such a love. I know that loss. I would not ever wish it upon anyone else.”

“Nor could we. No matter how much it pains us to lose you both.”

Thorin whirled around at the voice, mouth falling open. Bilbo stared as he did, and of course Gandalf wasn’t surprised, he’d most likely orchestrated the entire thing. For a long moment, Thorin could only stand and stare.

Then he was running forward and meeting Fili halfway, clutching his son to him. Kili somehow managed to wriggle his way into the embrace, and then Bilbo was there, too. Thorin pictured the sketch done so long ago by Ori, the one packed away carefully with his few things he was bringing. They were here again, all of them, and never before had he wished to bestow upon Gandalf his friendship.

They were _all_ there. Dwalin was coming forward, Ori and his long beard with them, and he spotted Dori and Bifur in the crowd. Gimli and Legolas and Tauriel, of course, and little Lili who was no longer little and racing forward to be swung about as if she was. Holdred and Baldrin stood tall and wiser in their years, and then there was Dis clinging to him with her hair coiled tightly about her head, silver strands and all. Thorin clung to her tightly and shut his eyes, lest they betray him. He could hear Dernwyn introducing herself to Pippin who sounded as if he was stammering. Merry was greeting Fili as the old cousin and friend that he was, and Esmeralda sounded beside herself at being reunited with Tauriel.

It was more than he could have hoped for. It was more than he’d ever considered asking for.

When he finally opened his eyes and stepped back from his sister, he found Dis’s eyes filling much as his were. “Soppy, the both of us,” Dis said, shaking her head with a small laugh, and Thorin did much the same.

“For a reason. For a great reason.”

Dis nodded, her smile falling away. “You’re leaving. Never has there been a greater honor than this, but…you’re _leaving_. The Shire seemed far enough, though I knew I could write a letter to you, or even meet you in Moria. This is permanent, brother mine. This is you going somewhere I cannot follow.”

For a moment, she was the young dwarf she’d been once, clinging to him as they’d fled Erebor, eyes wide and terrified but so trusting of him. Then he blinked and she was the wise woman she had grown into, her spine straightening in resolution. “Yet I would not see you parted from him, even for my selfish whims,” she said. “And my hobbit brother deserves this. Needs this, I think, if your letters were any indication.”

“It’s gotten worse,” Thorin admitted quietly. “And I will be glad to have it behind us.” His eyes sought Bilbo out and found his husband with his forehead against Dwalin’s. Both seemed barely in control of their emotions, and Thorin felt his own eyes burn again. He had thought controlling one’s destiny, choosing their fate as they were doing, would have made the parting easier. But this…this was harder than anything he’d ever done before.

The next thing he knew, Pippin nearly fell off the dock, and would have, had it not been for Ori’s quick grab of the lad’s tunic. “Related to Merry, there’s no doubt about that,” Bofur said jovially, and then everyone was laughing, even while Pippin muttered and blushed and shook his curls. He’d grow into a fine hobbit, and it burned that Thorin wouldn’t be here to see it. Merry, Pippin, Sam-

Frodo. Elodie.

Frodo was standing off beside his sister and Reginard, not even bothering to hide his tears. Elodie, at least, seemed to be doing better, but she had years on her brother of accepting change, both good and unwanted. Frodo, his precious jewel, was still too open with his heart.

Bilbo seemed to see it, too, for he turned from Dwalin and opened his arms for Frodo. Merry nearly beat him there, and then it was sort of a pile of young hobbits clinging to the elder Baggins. Little Prim managed to crawl between legs to cling to Bilbo’s trousers, which started another round of chuckles.

A hand on Thorin’s shoulder made him turn to where Fili stood beside him. The young nephew that had once followed him so loyally to Erebor had grown in stature and maturity, and his golden beard bore the royal braids fit for a King. He wore no crown on his head, but he still stood as regally as one; his very stance betrayed his kingly state.

Kili, right beside him, looked much the same. Yet in both of their eyes were the young nephews he had helped raise. “Take care of Uncle, Uncle,” Kili said with an attempt at a grin. He swallowed it back before it could fall completely.

Fili seemed to be merely trying to project his confidence, and it was rapidly fading fast. Thorin clutched them both to him, hands cupping the backs of their heads. They were taller than he was, stronger than he was, and every bit the dwarves he’d hoped they would become, one day. His nephews, his beautiful sons. To see them now before he left was a gift he had not earned.

“My sons,” he murmured, and they clutched at him. “Your future is bright. My only regret is that I will miss your coming years. Yet I know they will be filled with greatness and kin.”

He took a breath, then another, before speaking again. “I cannot express to you how _proud_ I am of you both.”

It was Fili who sniffled first, but Kili’s tears he felt before his brother’s. The thought that he was leaving them filled his mind again, and Thorin raised his eyes to the sky in order to stop his own eyes from spilling over. He was leaving them all.

But the thought of losing Bilbo was infinitely worse. Losing any of them was more than he could bear, and thinking of his husband, his brilliant Bilbo, fading through the years, only to be buried and away from him forever…no. He refused. This was the only option he had. And he would take it.

“Be safe,” he told them. “Take care of one another.” He paused. “And if at all possible-“

“Visit the Shire from time to time to ensure Frodo and Elodie are all right?” Fili asked, and he gave a watery laugh. “Nothing we haven’t discussed a thousand and one times already. We’ll tend to our cousins, we promise. Dwalin intends to head any visit, I can assure you.”

“He is very fond of Frodo,” Legolas said, inserting himself into the conversation at last. He rested a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “We all are. They will not be forgotten.”

“It would do Frodo and Elodie good to ensure _you_ are taken care of, as well,” Thorin reminded them. Elodie was a nurturer through and through, and Frodo seemed to have an unlimited expanse in his heart to fit everyone he knew inside.

Legolas nodded but could not seem to smile. Thorin well understood why, and for a million reasons. Thranduil had crossed this expanse of water once and had never returned. Would never return. An elf’s memory never dimmed, and Thorin knew his father’s leaving would always pain Legolas. And now Legolas’s father figure, the dwarf who had all but adopted him by welcoming him and naming him kin, was also going over the waters.

Thorin tugged at his arm and Legolas bent as he always did to let Thorin take him into his arms. “I could not have asked for a greater wedded-son,” he said quietly. “You are so dear to me, and I will forever hold you in my heart, Legolas.”

Legolas seemed to tremble a little, and he finally let Thorin go. His eyes shone, and he gave a quick nod before abruptly turning and stepping away towards Kili. Kili held him tightly and wiped tears from his husband’s face even while more streamed down his own cheeks.

Dernwyn came over then, but she was smiling, and that helped ease some of the heartache that was threatening to swallow Thorin whole. “I’ll not weep,” she promised, but her own smile seemed fragile. “But I will miss you. Oh I will miss you both _so much_.”

“And we will miss you. Yet we will sleep easier knowing that you are all here living your lives in peace.” He hoped there would be a great deal of peace. It was all he had ever wanted for his kin.

He wrapped her in his arms as well, and though her stay in his embrace was shorter than the others, her grip was perhaps the tightest of them all. Only Dwalin’s arrival, noted by his cough, led to their parting, and she gave him a good-natured scowl for it.

Dwalin’s farewell was just as difficult as he had thought it to be. He sank his fingers into Dwalin’s arms and felt his own skin bruising beneath his cousin’s crushing grip. Dwalin made absolutely no attempt to hold back his tears, and neither did Thorin. His brother in arms, his cousin, his best friend, remaining behind and never to be seen again.

“I’m happy you’re goin’,” Dwalin choked out. “Both of you. He needs it, I know he does. Thinkin’ about my brother losin’ his mind as the days go on…I couldn’t do it. Don’t know how you have.”

Not well, that was for certain. “Take care of everyone and yourself,” Thorin whispered. “Promise me.”

“Aye, I will. Keep an eye on Frodo and Elodie and the whole lot of ‘em.”

When they parted, Thorin realized their farewell was the last one, that everyone else was standing at the ready. Frodo was still hanging on Bilbo, along with Hildili and Holdred and Baldrin. Sam was wiping at his eyes again and again, and Merry was letting his tears collect and roll down his cheeks. Reginard and Everard were both biting their lips, and Lotho’s breath kept hitching as he fought to keep his composure. Even Rosie, known for her smiles and strength, couldn’t seem to keep her lips from turning down.

“How are you even here?” Thorin finally asked his nephews, just now wondering how this had transpired. “Who is left in Erebor to tend to it?”

“Your cousin,” Fili said, and he huffed a laugh. “Dain said it was the least he could do, to give you this as a parting gift. He’s keeping Erebor while his daughter Laina and her wife tend to the Iron Hills. He wishes you both well and hopes for many more lifetimes of happiness.”

“Give him my thanks,” Thorin finally managed. His cousin, Dain, who had grown so much over the years, had given him this gift, and Thorin would never be able to repay it. “Please.”

“You know we will, Uncle.”

“Denethor watches vigilantly over the White City for me,” a voice said, and Thorin smiled as his old and dear friend emerged from behind the others. He rested his hands upon two shoulders – Bilbo and Frodo. Aragorn smiled and inclined his head. “I assure you that we will watch out for those you leave behind.”

“Including you,” Bilbo said. “My dearest friend, you need watching out for, too.”

“I will do this,” Arwen promised. She stood beside her father, Gandalf, and Galadriel. The blonde elven queen bestowed upon them all a bright smile, and it felt like starlight.

“Indeed, those who remain behind will see great friendship.” Galadriel’s eyes went distant for a moment. “Friendships that will matter as much now as they will to the future of this world. Yet it will not be a future for us, but for you.” She lowered her gaze to Aragorn, then moved it to Fili, before finally resting it upon Frodo, of all people. Frodo stared at her, in awe, and her smile broadened. “May you find your light amidst the darkness that tears upon your heart, young Frodo Baggins. For you will find your courage there, too.”

Aragorn squeezed Frodo’s shoulder, turning the young hobbit’s attention back to the king. “And you will not seek it alone,” he promised. “Long have I been a friend of your uncles. I swear to be one to you and your kin.”

“Friends with a _king_ ,” Everard breathed. Merry just shrugged.

“I told you, he doesn’t count. I know him.”

Sam just rolled his eyes, and Bilbo’s lips turned up. Fili managed to turn his chuckle into a cough, and Kili bit his lip to keep his grin down. Thorin finally met his husband’s gaze, and as soon as their eyes locked, he knew. _It’s time._

_Yes, yes it is._

Everyone else went somber at the same time, as if they could hear the same thoughts. “We depart,” Elrond said, and Thorin was grateful to the elf for his being there to say it. He didn’t honestly think he could.

Bilbo quietly moved around the younger hobbits to join with Thorin. It seemed to be everything Frodo could do to not go with them and follow after. Elodie stepped beside her brother, and though her own eyes were filled with tears, she smiled at the both of them. Then Reginard slid in and took Frodo’s hand, and Thorin felt himself breathe a little easier. With his husband and his sister by his side, Frodo would be fine. Hob was right there beside Elodie, and with little Prim and her second child, his niece and daughter would not be alone, either.

Legolas moved forward, as if he couldn’t help himself, then stopped, hands clenched by his sides. It was Galadriel who spoke to him before Thorin or Bilbo could. “This is the last ship, Legolas,” she said, half as a warning, half as an offer. Kili didn’t move, his eyes locked on his husband.

But Legolas shook his head without hesitation. “I will not go,” he said. “I am remaining.”

“Haldir will need you, in future times,” Galadriel said, and Thorin blinked.

“Haldir?” Bilbo asked. “Haldir’s not going?”

“He chose to stay,” Tauriel said quietly. “He will remain in Mirkwood, near to us.”

The words, though surprising, left Thorin filled with sadness a moment later. Four elves who would never see the shores they had been promised, doomed to live out lives where they watched their loved ones pass on. It was their choice to make, and Thorin could not make it for them. Yet his heart broke for them, all the same.

Galadriel smiled at Legolas. “This is the last ship,” she said again. “Yet even a leaf, fallen from the tall trees of the Greenwood, may wander across waters, when it is time.” She kept her gaze on him, as if searching deep into his very soul. Legolas frowned for one moment, just one. Then his eyes began to widen, and Galadriel’s smile broadened.

Whatever it was that she had truly said to him, Thorin would never know. It was not for him to know, he supposed. He had other things on his mind.

He reached and found Bilbo’s hand with his own. Bilbo smiled up at him. “Ready for another adventure, I suppose,” he said, and Thorin huffed a laugh.

Yes. Yes, it was time.

They took their place on board and stood within the wooden ship. It was larger than Thorin had first thought, and looked to have space below the main deck. There would be time to see it later. For now, Thorin had final farewells and last images to place within his memory.

He glanced over the edge of the ship to the stone dock, where everyone stood. His sons, his daughters, his sister and his great nieces and nephews. His brethren, his friends, stretching across the vast races. Not a single eye was dry, and all of them were gazing at him and Bilbo. Thorin felt his eyes burn and finally felt tears roll down his cheeks. He glanced at Bilbo and saw his husband wiping his away.

They were leaving. They would never see them again. And there was no other choice.

Before he knew it, the elves were in the ship, and the sails were slowly filling with the breeze. The figures on the land were shrinking away, and then finally they were gone. There was nothing left to see except the outline of the harbor.

Bilbo’s hand squeezed his, startling him. “You and me,” he said quietly. “Just you and me.”

“That’s all I need,” Thorin said. Bilbo gave a quick smile, and Thorin pulled him close, reveling in the breaths he felt against his chest. Bilbo was his, forever, and there would never be a cause to worry about age. He had lifetimes left, now. Lifetimes with his beloved, the one whom he loved.

Bilbo rested his head against Thorin’s shoulder, and the two of them stood within the ship, paying no mind to anything else except for each other.

 

The ship disappeared into the distance until there was nothing left to see. Frodo kept staring, as if he could still see them. But they were gone, now. Gone well past his reach.

A hand slid into his, finally tearing his attention away from the harbor. Reginard stood beside him, a small smile on his face. “It’ll be all right,” he said softly. “You and me, eh? We’ll be together, you and me, and we’ll make it through everything. I promise.”

Frodo squeezed his husband’s hand until he thought he’d break it, but Reginard didn’t so much as flinch. He was whole and he was there, his hand warm and clinging back to Frodo just as hard, and Frodo finally felt as if he could breathe. For the first time in days, he could breathe again.

“Legolas? Are you all right?”

Frodo glanced back at his cousin, who was staring at the elf a little worriedly. “Legolas?” Kili asked again.

Legolas seemed as if he were coming out of a trance, then slowly shook himself. “It…it’s nothing,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper. “Nothing at all.” But he looked as if his mind was racing, and there was a growing hope on his face. He turned and quickly gave Kili a swift kiss, then stepped away and down the stone dock. Kili blinked and blinked again before following after his husband.

The hand on Frodo’s shoulder shifted, reminding him that it was there. “What will you do, Frodo?” Aragorn asked. “Will you return to the Shire?”

“Of course he’s goin’ home!” Sam sputtered. “Where else would he go?”

Aragorn said nothing, but he didn’t need to. Now that he’d said it, it was there in Frodo’s mind, the little… _thoughts_ he’d been entertaining, ever since Fili’s letter had come by raven, telling of their travels to meet them at the docks. Mentioning that Frodo was welcome in Erebor if he wasn’t ready to return to the Shire.

It was in that instant that Frodo made his decision. He turned to Reginard, whose hand he was still holding, and bit his lip. “Reginard-“

“Where to first?” Reginard said, and Frodo felt his shoulders drop in relief. Reginard just grinned. “I saw that coming. I know you, Frodo Baggins. And you’re well and truly stuck with me.”

“And that is something I will forever be grateful for,” Frodo said. “Thank you.” Never more had he felt so _loved_ , so utterly adored, by his husband before. Reginard’s cheeks went a little pink but he still kept grinning.

“Wait, where are we going?” Everard asked.

“We’re _going_ somewhere?” Sam asked.

Frodo turned to Fili. His cousin king’s eyes were still a little red, but his smile was genuine. “Coming to Erebor after all?” he asked.

Frodo nodded. “If I still can.”

“Cousin, you are always welcome,” Dernwyn said without hesitation. “Of that I can promise you.”

“That would be lovely,” Baldrin said, speaking up for the first time. He gave a smile, that same calm smile that Frodo had remembered through the years. “You would love it in Erebor. We could show you everything you wanted to see.”

“I will need a guide,” Frodo said. “For myself and Reginard.”

“And me,” Merry said firmly. “You’re not leaving without me.” Esmeralda made a face, but Merry crossed his arms. “You were adventuring ages ago-“

“Not _ages_ , how old do you think I am?” Esmeralda said, sounding highly offended. Bofur just kissed her on the temple, which left her grumblings to a minimum.

“-and it’s my turn now, and I’m going. That’s what you get for telling me all those lovely tales about other lands and places. You’ve only yourself to blame.” But he grinned as he said it, and Esmeralda looked torn between being annoyed at her son and so proud she could burst. Frodo caught Sam rolling his eyes and considered doing the same.

 _Tooks_. Honestly.

“I’m going too!” Pippin insisted, further proving Frodo right regarding the Took family. “I want to meet kings properly!”

“And I am definitely going,” Everard said. “So that makes a neat hobbit group of five-“

“ _Six_ ,” Sam said, cutting in. He crossed his arms and scooted up between Elodie and Frodo. “He’s not going anywhere without me.”

Frodo gave his friend a bright smile, and Sam reluctantly returned it. “I won’t let you go alone,” Sam said, softer now. “If you’re going to go adventuring, then Samwise Gamgee’ll go with you.”

“Are _all_ of you going?” Ori asked hesitantly. “You’d be safer, of course, but-“

“I’m not,” Rosie said. She glanced at her belly before shaking her head. “We… _might_ be expecting. Not quite certain yet. But either way, it’d be safer if I stayed in the Shire.”

There was a host of congratulations sent her way, and Rosie just smiled with her usual good cheer. Frodo felt his own heart swell in joy and quickly pulled Sam into his embrace. Sam’s cheeks were a bit red but he was beaming, obviously beside himself at the thought of being a father again. Frodo couldn’t blame him. “Sam, if she’s with child, you shouldn’t-“

“I’m not stayin’ behind,” Sam said stubbornly. “And that’s final. Nowhere in this world I’ll let my best friend go by himself. Any of my friends, but…but especially you, Mister Frodo. You and Reginard, I wouldn’t let either of you out of my sight.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rosie insisted. “It’s just a babe, and there’s plenty to look after me if that’s truly what it is. Nothing Sam hasn’t seen before, honest.”

“You already have a child?” Dis asked, and Frodo knew his aunt’s look well. That bright grin and her genuine cheer, the thought of another little baby hobbit to cuddle and croon over. Frodo almost felt the edges of his lips turn up. She would never change, and that, that was a comfort.

Lotho bit his lip as Dis and Rosie stepped aside to speak more. “I should probably stay behind, too. Best not to go traipsing off, especially with my mother being…well. My mother.”

“We’re staying too,” Hob said, giving Elodie a look. Elodie muttered something but finally agreed. “We’ve a second on the way now as well-“

“I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,” Elodie grumbled before finally accepting the joyful congratulations being tossed her way.

“-and we’d be better off at home for sure. Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on the Shire’s borders,” Hob pointed out, and that decided Frodo’s sister. She gave a quick nod and crossed her arms, but finally let her lips turn up when Hob pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Fili smiled, and Frodo could see every inch of a king within his being. Though Holdred stood beside his father, it was Hildili who stood the tallest, and Frodo could well imagine the crown upon her head. One day. And Uncle wouldn’t be here to see it.

His heart began to sink again before he resolutely pushed it away. No. He wasn’t going to think about them right now. He couldn’t. He just…just couldn’t. He had other things to think about. Like where they were going to go.

“I would like to see Rivendell, myself,” Arwen said. She, too, had been focused on the harbor, but turned now to the group. “Aragorn and I had planned a small visit before it faded completely. Would you like to join us, Frodo?”

“I would,” Frodo said. Sam seemed to perk up a bit at the thought of seeing the elven home. “I very much would.”

“We can travel together for a bit, then,” Fili said. “Perhaps you’d like to see Moria?”

“Maybe Dwalin could meet you there,” Kili suggested.

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it,” Dwalin growled. “I’ll be there, sure enough. You come to Moria and I’ll see you safely from the caverns to the mountain.”

Frodo smiled at the dwarf and watched him grin in return. “I swear by the very bones in my body you’ll not come to harm,” Dwalin said, and it sounded like an oath. Frodo nodded solemnly, as solemnly as he could. There was something in his blood now, leaving him energized and looking ahead for the first time in months. He was going on an adventure. A proper Baggins off on his own adventure.

“Then we’ll go,” Frodo said. He paused on the stone dock, turning to the mouth of the harbor one last time. The ship was gone, well past the harbor and the world in general. Gone and never to be seen again.

 _I love you both_ , he thought. _Please be happy_ , he thought. The only thing he could manage to get out, however, was, “Thank you,” in a whisper that was lost on the wind.

Then he turned and rejoined the group, and no one looked behind them.

 

 

Thorin slowly opened his eyes. He’d drifted off for an afternoon nap, and hadn’t expected to sleep for as long as it felt like he had. But the rocking of the boat beneath him was a gentle one, and it wasn’t leaving him ill, like boats often did. He’d been half afraid he’d spend the journey sick and abed. He rolled over and pressed a kiss to his husband’s golden curls before sitting up.

And froze.

His eyes slowly drifted back to his husband. Golden curls, the likes of which Thorin had not seen in years. What skin he could see was unblemished from age, and when Bilbo mumbled and twisted a little in his sleep, his skin was smooth. Young.

Thorin turned to his own hands and stared. Fingers that had gone wiry and wrinkled in age were now smooth and young. He reached for his face and found it the same, and when he tugged his hair past his face, it was dark and not even beginning to silver. Just as it had been in his youth.

He rose from the bed and quickly stepped over to kneel in front of Bilbo. The sight was almost enough to make him weep.

It was to a youth he had not seen in over fifty years. His husband looked just as young as he had the day Thorin had met him, perhaps even younger. There were no wrinkles, no lines, nothing but the golden hair that tumbled over his ears. And when he opened his eyes, they were clear and bright and widening ever so slightly when they caught sight of Thorin.

Thorin felt his lips turning up into an impossibly wide grin. “Hello, my beloved,” he murmured.

“Thorin?” Bilbo whispered, staring. Even his _voice_ sounded younger. “But…but you’re so… _young_!”

“I should get you a mirror,” Thorin said, and Bilbo blinked, not comprehending, until he glanced down at his own skin. He shot straight up in bed, staring in wonder. Thorin could only do the same. It felt as if the last fifty years had been a dream, watching Bilbo age until he’d been forced to accept the ultimate fear as truth: that he would lose his husband to age.

Never had he dreamed of _this_.

“They’re gone,” Bilbo said, his voice achingly soft. He stared at his hands and at his now uncovered feet, and he looked near to tears. “Thorin, the scars from Mordor, they’re…they’re _gone_.”

Carefully Thorin took his husband’s hands in his. The scars that had long faded to white lines were gone, and skin perfect and whole met his eye. His feet, too, were unscarred, and Thorin realized a few of his own scars from over the years were missing. Bilbo seemed to have the same idea, and he instantly began pulling at Thorin’s tunic until it was open and he could stare at his chest. The wound from Caila was gone.

Bilbo lunged at Thorin and almost knocked him over. Thorin all but crushed Bilbo to his chest, burying his face in his husband’s curls. He felt something damp against his chest, and Thorin shut his eyes to hide his own tears.

Their future, laid out for them for another lifetime, at least. They weren’t being promised forever, and one day Thorin would have to let Bilbo go. But he had another lifetime, perhaps more than that, to figure that out. He would deal with that day later, and perhaps they could go together. Perhaps it would make it all the worthwhile.

“Husband,” Bilbo murmured, and Thorin smiled through his tears.

“ _Beloved_.”

 

_Finis_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note:
> 
> The ending has been edited from its original format to what is hopefully a 'better' ending. Thank you all for your comments.


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